


Winter Bristles

by rawrkinjd



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game)
Genre: Eskel has a Beard, Explicit Sexual Content, Hot Springs, Kaer Morhen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-06 01:35:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25885192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rawrkinjd/pseuds/rawrkinjd
Summary: One year, Geralt arrives at Kaer Morhen before Eskel and gets to see his 'winter style' for the very first time.Inspired by this beautiful piece of artwork:Eskel by Quietrix.
Relationships: Eskel/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Comments: 67
Kudos: 274





	Winter Bristles

Usually Geralt’s the last to arrive. He always wandered the farthest afield and was usually wrapped up in some intrigue or other, but this year he arrived shortly after Lambert. It felt odd to eat his first meal without Eskel and Geralt headed up to bed early after only a handful of card games. He loved Lambert dearly, but without the leveller of Eskel between them, their grouchy exhaustion exacerbated their personality differences—and unfortunate similarities—and both became touchy. 

Eskel arrived late the following afternoon. Vesemir spotted him coming up the trail that morning and alerted them, so Geralt was in the courtyard waiting when he led Scorpion through the gates. His back was turned as he hugged Lambert and Vesemir, and then he faced Geralt with his usual bright smile… except, he looked different.

Geralt opened his mouth to speak but the words seized in his throat as the tight, furious heat of arousal coursed through his body and knotted in his groin, because Eskel had a beard and Geralt felt like someone had cast Axii and left him adrift. “What’s up, wolf? Cat got your tongue?” Eskel hauled Geralt forward; the tightness of his grip wasn’t the only reason Geralt couldn’t breathe.

The three of them helped Eskel in with his bags, listened to his stories—he’d stopped to help a village with a zeugal problem, no contract, but they were desperate, standard Eskel—and then he headed down to the hot springs with a towel thrown over his shoulder and his shaving kit.

_His gods-damned shaving kit._

Geralt followed him at a canter, abandoning the goblet of wine and conceding a handful of orens to Lambert by throwing their game of Gwent. He appeared in the humid cavern just as Eskel stripped off his trousers and climbed into the water with an appreciative groan. A damp hand pushed through his beard, thumb tracing the lines of his scars, and Geralt stared with his mouth open. Eskel wasn’t oblivious, he turned and dropped his eyes to the thick line of Geralt’s prick as it swelled down the leg of his trousers. “Offerings been a bit sparse this year, wolf?” 

“You’ve got a beard.” Geralt said, because his dumb fucking brain had completely drained of all sense and vocabulary at the sight of Eskel with those dark bristles. It was relatively neat too, not like the scraggly, unkempt growth Geralt had shaved off a couple of days ago. Eskel had trimmed and tended to it while out on the Path and Geralt wanted his face between his thighs, covering them in beard burn right fucking _now_. 

“Yeah,” Eskel raised an eyebrow and then his lips parted as realisation dawned. “Was just about to shave it off.”

_“No.”_ Geralt’s voice echoed around the cavern as he moved quickly to the edge of the pool. “I mean, uh—yeah, if, if you… if that’s…”

“Geralt.”

“Yeah?” 

“I could shave it off tomorrow.”

Geralt swallowed thickly. _Well, in for an oren in for a crown, right?_ “Or… uh, at the end of winter?” 

“Hmm.” Eskel smoothed his hand around his face again and Geralt’s knees went weak. “’Spose. It’ll need maintenance, beard oil, trims. Pain in the ass. Gunna’ make it worth my while?”

The way that those honey-rich eyes dropped down the length of Geralt’s body—hungry and promising—set Geralt on fire and he practically tore his clothes off in his eagerness to get into the water. The sigh of awe stuttered out of his chest as he stepped into Eskel’s arms; those big hands settled on his narrow waist and his own lifted to Eskel’s face. Blunt nails raked through the groomed bristles on Eskel’s jaw, gentle around the scarring on the right side. Their cocks brushed together beneath the water line; Eskel pulled Geralt close and swayed his hips lazily.

Geralt leaned in and kissed him, tongue lapping into the notch in Eskel’s upper lip before he mouthed the plush lower with a quiet moan of appreciation, fingers brushing and combing through his beard. “Fuck.” He rubbed his face along it next, growling with pleasure as the bristle rasped through his own stubble in the most delicious way. Eskel dropped a hand between them and wrapped their cocks against his palm; Geralt didn’t even realise he was thrusting into the grip, mesmerised by the taste of Eskel on his tongue, until Eskel moaned next to his ear with a quiet entreaty to the gods. 

“Want to look at you while you fuck me,” Geralt murmured, tongue tracing the edge of coarse hair at the top of Eskel’s jaw. 

His arms slanted across Eskel’s broad shoulders, legs wrapped about his waist, and continued to nuzzle his face with broken sighs of pleasure. He clung on as Eskel’s hands dropped away to snatch his towel and lay it out across the edge of the pool, before seating Geralt on top. Their kisses were lazy and affectionate; Eskel nipped and sucked at Geralt’s lips as he fumbled around for his wash kit and the salve he applied to his scars. Geralt lounged on his back and braced his heels on the edge of the pool; he wrapped the length of his cock, pumping it slowly before Eskel’s eyes, head tilted, golden eyes bright.

“If I’d known a beard made you this keen, I’d have left it years ago,” Eskel watched the purple head of Geralt’s cock erupt through his fist, admiring the smooth arch of it, the thick veins and the dark curls at its base. _Perfect._ He smirked as he leaned forward and swirled his tongue around the weeping crown, before sinking down until it nudged the back of his throat. Geralt scratched his nails through Eskel’s beard as he thrust up slowly into the wet heat of his mouth, agile hips rolling and twitching as he closed his thighs enough to feel coarse whiskers rub across tender skin. A skilled tongue curled and teased around his shaft, worshipping, as Eskel's eyes closed in bliss.

A slick finger teased around his entrance and he dropped his head back, eyes closed, as he bore down on it. His body opened easily to a second and a third, bereft and empty in the moments when Eskel dropped his hand away to top up the slick from the tin near Geralt’s hip. His walls gripped and clutched, eager for Eskel to plunge in and take what he wanted, but Eskel remained measured and gentle. 

_Fuck, because Eskel was a caring lover._

He always had been.

The tender way he watched Geralt up the length of his chest, gaze soft, mouth eager. It was that look Geralt always looked forward to each winter. Adoration, without strings or magic attached, without demand or expectation. An easy, passionate love that saw all of his flaws and foibles and treasured each one. Eskel pulled off Geralt’s cock and knelt on the ledge just below the water to line his own up with the glistened, puckered hole stuttering eagerly for it. Geralt pinned his thighs back, ass spread, lower lip between his teeth and knew he made a wanton sight. A banquet for Eskel to feast on after a year of starving.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Eskel’s face as his cock pushed past the resistance of his rim, toes curling in delight as that thick head stretched him wide and nestled itself deep inside his stomach. He felt the press of Eskel’s balls—hot and heavy—against the sensitive skin of his cleft, and silky walls clenched with pleasure once he was seated fully. Eskel groaned, cursing under his breath, as Geralt's body swallowed him, “Fuck, how’re you so tight—after all—this time?” 

“You think I let anyone else—nnngh-aah—have my ass?” Geralt growled, and then threw his head back with a whimpering cry as Eskel rolled his hips in an elegant little ripple. There was no room for words in Geralt’s chest as Eskel proceeded to punch the air from it; leaning over, hands braced against smooth, warm stone, he looked into Geralt’s eyes as he fucked into him with deep, hard snaps of his hips. He wanted to watch his lover unravel and feel the plains of soft, damp skin beneath him as he moved.

Geralt gripped on for dear life; one hand fisted damp strands of black hair while the other rubbed and pushed across the beard that had set dormant embers ablaze.

After so many years—decades—Eskel knew the map of Geralt’s body better than the hills and trails of the Continent; he knew which spots when licked and nibbled made him keen, knew the perfect angle that allowed the full length of his prick to slide along his sweet spot, knew the feeling of Geralt’s body building to a climax as it began to quiver and tighten around his thrusts. 

Geralt didn’t bother to moderate his noise, gasping and moaning as loudly as a paid whore, because at home with Eskel he didn’t need to keep himself in check. He was safe here, _loved here._ Eskel lapped up each sound of tortured pleasure like the sweetest nectar, swallowing it with deep, hungry kisses.

Unfortunately, the trail had been long and the time since a release longer; Eskel came with a bitten off growl as Geralt’s noise and pleasure started to crest. He clenched his teeth, frustrated with himself. His cock pulsed, pumping Geralt’s tight ass full of his spend, and he nipped at the arched column of Geralt’s throat in apology. “Mm, fuck, give me a moment. I’ll make it up to you.”

Geralt chuckled and placed his hands on Eskel’s shoulders to shove him down into the water until his head sat between his thighs. “I’m coming on that beard.”

“You filthy git,” Eskel smirked, and then lapped beneath the head of Geralt’s quivering cock while taking him in hand. His palm undulated and twisted, finding the grip and rhythm Geralt needed with little effort. Geralt gasped and moaned, hand cupping the back of Eskel’s head as his orgasm swept through him; a warm, languid wave that swelled and ebbed, cock spurting thick dribbles of come into the dark hair on Eskel’s face. He rubbed his fingers through, smoothing his essence into Eskel’s skin, taking possession of what was his.

“I want you to keep the beard forever.” 

“I can’t, s’too itchy in the summer,” Eskel grinned. “Even you shave yours off.” 

“Hmm, fair. I want it every winter from now on.”

“Done.”

“After this, we’re going to find Lambert. I want both beards. At the same time.”

“You’re insatiable, wolf.”

“Got to maintain my reputation even outside of the season.”

Eskel laughed; a warm, booming sound that made Geralt’s heart take flight.

Once he was finished, once Eskel was scented and marked, Geralt sank forward into the pool and they kissed like men starved.

Because in a way, they were. Deprived of the open, comfortable affection of family through the year, unable to tap into the well of emotional strength until the first snows began to fall and their frigid home beckoned, their hearts and souls felt empty and barren. Down in the hot springs, wrapped in each other’s arms, their bodies sated and their hearts full, not even the chill of winter or the haunting memories of the Path could trouble them now. Within the safety and comfort of Kaer Morhen, they could gorge their hearts on love.

* * *


End file.
